


Slow Ride

by Carry_On_Destiel



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Adrenaline, Coming In Pants, Danger, Daryl's Bike, Hand Jobs, Horny Rick, M/M, Motorcycle Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rutting, Short One Shot, Walkers (Walking Dead)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 19:21:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5102702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carry_On_Destiel/pseuds/Carry_On_Destiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daryl abandons his post - he can't help it, he knows something is wrong and he needs to find Rick. He can't lose Rick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Slow Ride

**Author's Note:**

> My take on what should have happened in S6, Ep 3. Instead of returning to help Abe and Sasha, Daryl rushes off to find Rick before something terrible happens to his beloved leader.

"Nah. I got faith in ya!"  
  
  
Daryl's last words to Abraham and Sasha ring in his ears as he guns the engine, making a sharp turn at the crossroad.  
  
  
He is driving fast, too fast. He has to get to Rick, something has happened. He heard the fear and desperation in his leader's voice - and he's certain that those were gunshots over the crackle of the radio. His chest is tight with fear, his knuckles pure white on the handle bars.  
  
  
When he finally rounds the last curve of the highway and spots the RV, the hunter's heart drops into his stomach. Rick is surrounded - there is at least fifty walkers swarming around the Winnebago. Most of them are clustered around the left side; crouching in a tight circle, grasping, reaching... feeding.  
  
  
"No!" the horrified cry is torn from Daryl's throat, as he skids to a halt, barely noticing the walkers closing in around him. He stares in disbelief at the bloody pile of flesh and torn clothes   ... _No...not Rick! Please, not Rick..._ A grasping hand jolts the archer into action, whirling around to sink his knife into its rotting skull. Daryl kicks the stand into place and dismounts the bike swiftly, dispatching two more walkers with a defiant shout. He has to get close enough to ID the body - he needs to know. Even if it kills him... Several walkers have circled behind him but the bulk of the herd is still at his front, some finally distracted from their meal and slowly clambering to their feet. The sound of gnashing teeth and the smell of rotting flesh surrounds him. Daryl kicks out, knocking down three walkers like dominoes, his knife flashing out to plunge into a ragged grey ear but its too late - he's surrounded, they are closing in and Daryl knows he won't be able to fight his way through. He won't be able to find out for sure. He'll never be able to tell Rick...  
  
A shot rings out, a gout of blood and brain matter splashes across the front of Daryl's vest. Suddenly Rick is there, his machete slashing through necks and skulls with ease, his hand closing around Daryl's wrist, shouting something but Daryl can't hear him over the explosion of relief taking place in his chest.   
  
"Daryl! DARYL!! We gotta go!" Rick's urgent shouts finally break through the ringing in Daryl's ears and the hunter gives a sharp nod and twists around, slashing and stabbing with furious glee, hacking a bloody path through the barrier of corpses. They reach the bike and Daryl stomps it into life with a roar, Rick punches one rotting face and stabs another then leaps on the back, one arm locked around Daryl's waist.  
  
"GO!!!"  
  
Daryl peels out with a scream of the engine, his rear tire leaving a curvy black stripe on the pavement as they weave around several walkers and finally break free of the crowd. A glance in the mirror tells him that the herd has changed course, now following the throaty growl of his bike. Rick's arm is painfully tight around his waist and Daryl can feel each harsh, panting breath against the back of his neck - Rick is alive! Daryl glances at the mirror again, realizing that the herd is falling behind and slows down to a near-crawl, waiting for them to catch up, still feeling dizzy with relief.  
  
  
Rick releases a shaky breath and awkwardly sheathes the machete at his side, wincing as his injured hand throbs viciously. The gash had torn open even further when he punched that walker in the face - probably not his smartest move ever. But it was difficult to think clearly with so much going on. Rick had been certain that he was done for and was trying to find something to jam against the horn of the RV. It was suicide, but it might be enough to draw the walkers away from home - away from Carl and Judith. Then he heard the familiar roar and Daryl's ragged shout and Rick's heart leapt in his chest.  
  
Now here he was, pressed against the hunter's back, his arm wrapped around the other man's lean waist, holding him much closer and tighter than necessary - but Rick didn't care. Daryl's warmth is comforting and Rick leans his cheek against that broad back, feeling the sticky leather moving over muscular shoulder blades. Daryl tenses for a moment then reaches his hand back to pat the older man's thigh, his fingers squeezing reassuringly through the stained denim. The vibration of the engine travels up Rick's legs, a warm buzz to match the thrum of adrenaline rushing through his system. Now there is nothing to do except tag along for the ride and Rick is feeling restless and jittery but Daryl's body pressed against him is...nice... Rick shifts his hips, trying to get centered on the narrow seat and bites his lip as his crotch rubs against Daryl's firm ass.  
  
"Rick, y'alright back there?" Daryl leans back, speaking just loud enough over the steady growl of the engine.  
  
Rick takes a deep breath and nods, barely able to find his voice as the blood rushes to gather between his legs, "Yeah. Just- just hoping this works, that's all. We gotta stay ahead of the herd, gotta lead 'em away. That's our job."  
  
Daryl nods, his long dark hair brushing against Rick's skin, the older man shivers with pleasure. His cock is achingly hard in his jeans already and he should move back, put some space between himself and Daryl until the 'problem' goes away on its own but _fuck_ it feels so damn good right here. Daryl arches his back slightly and Rick feels, rather than hears, the slight popping of his spine. Rick's left hand slides along the front of Daryl's vest then slips inside, feeling the heat of his skin through one threadbare layer of fabric. He thinks he hears a soft groan from the other man but it is hard to tell. Rick allows his hips to rock forward slightly against the hunter, grinding his hardness against that tempting curve and this time Daryl's head drops back against Rick shoulder and the constable can see the flush on his skin and the way his lip is glistening.   
  
"Jesus, Rick.." Daryl's voice is low, desperate, barely audible but Rick hears it and his hips buck forward at the sound.  
  
Daryl's hand is gripping the older man's thigh again, clutching tightly, drawing him closer. Rick's right hand drops to Daryl's hip, while his left slips lower, caressing the hunter's taut stomach then moving over his waistband and finally coming to a stop between the other man's legs. Rick wraps his hand around the stiff outline of Daryl's cock, rubbing hard. Daryl gasps in surprise, his fist clenching convulsively on the throttle causing the bike to surge forward with a roar. Rick chuckles softly against Daryl's neck, lips grazing over the sensitive skin then nips gently at the curve of his throat. Daryl is groaning openly now, his fingers digging painfully into Rick's leg, hips alternately shifting forward into Rick's palm and pressing back against Rick's cock. Its driving the older man quickly toward the edge.  
  
"Fuck! _...Daryl._. Jesus...You are so fucking sexy right now." Rick mumbles into the other man's hair, which somehow smells fucking incredible, despite all the sweat and grime in it.  
  
His palm feels hot and a little sore from rubbing the stiff denim so roughly but he can't slow down, not when its making Daryl sound like this: gasping out little moans and heavy panting breaths, begging for more. Rick grinds his hips up into Daryl's ass, grunting with effort, his pelvis moving in short, sharp jerks.  
  
"Oh shit, don't stop!" Daryl grits out, the bike lunging forward again, "Please--oh fuck, Rick! Fuck..gonna cum, Rick...M'so fucking close.."  
  
Rick grins and bites at that soft throat, tasting salt and smoke and _Daryl._ "Cum, Daryl." he orders quietly, Cum for me, I wanna see it. Need to feel you cum in my hand."  
  
He tightens his grip on the other man's cock, hating the damn denim blocking his way and jerks the other man even harder, feeling the faint, tell-tale throbbing as Daryl reaches the point of no return. Suddenly the archer's body stiffens against him and then Daryl is coming with a sob of pleasure, his hips bucking upwards into Rick's calloused palm. The bike veers sharply to one side; a hot, damp patch of cum is soaking slowly through the denim but Rick doubts it will be noticeable with all the blood on the younger man's jeans. Rick's own cock is still agonizingly hard as Daryl's body sags back against his, so loose and relaxed that Rick is practically holding him up. The older man grips Daryl's hips with both hands, thrusting desperately until he too, cums hard in his jeans. They lean against each other, panting and shaking, barely hearing the hoarse wails of the growing crowd at their back.


End file.
